


Devils in Many Ways

by ordinarily (tofty)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Sam Winchester/Meg Masters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-21
Updated: 2009-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofty/pseuds/ordinarily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in the loft in Chicago stays in the loft in Chicago.  Just a tiny swerve away from the canon established in "Shadow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devils in Many Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous smut meme the whereabouts of which I can't remember. The prompt was about Meg immobilizing Sam with her mind.

“Why are you doing this, Meg?” Sam stretches his half-numb fingers, grasping for the knife in his pocket, only just out of reach; he keeps thinking that he can will his fingers that extra half-inch, but so far he’s not having any luck. Which is the story of his life, actually. He stretches his fingers again and watches Meg lean over Dean. “What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?”

“I’m doing this for the same reasons you do what you do. Loyalty. Love. Like the love you have for Mommy, and Jess.”

Sam flinches against the post, cast iron cool against his hot neck. “Go to Hell.”

Her sidelong smile flashes white at him from Dean’s lap. “Baby, I’m already there.” She pauses and stares consideringly at him for a second, holds his gaze almost casually, then slips smoothly off Dean’s lap and crawls across to him, voice pitched low and brown-sugar sweet. “Come on, Sam, there’s no need to be nasty.” She kneels up against him and whispers. Sam can feel her breath against his cheek. “I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you, watching me changing in my apartment. It turned you on, didn’t it?” She slides a leg over his lap, straddles him easily.

Shit. It _had_ turned him on a little, black bra against her honey-pale skin, back limned in the lamplight, for like the two seconds he’d had to think about it before the tap on the Impala’s window. And thinking about it now, Meg nosing his ear, lips brushing him as she whispers. He’s pretty sure she can feel him hardening against her, and then he’s completely sure, as she leans back a little and her smile goes feral around the edges. She rotates her hips slowly, grinding down on him. Goddamn it. He gasps as her teeth scrape his throat.

“Get a room, you two.” Sam flinches; he’d almost forgotten Dean was even there, but now that he’s been reminded, he can hear a chink of metal against concrete. Okay, then. He turns his head against the post, away from Dean, and she follows, doesn’t allow him to pull away. Her mouth is right there. He can feel the heat of her through her layers and his. He can practically smell her, hot and humid against him as she grinds down again, setting a slow, brutal rhythm.

Meg’s still whispering. “I didn’t mind. I like that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy, you and I can still have a little dirty fun.” Bites down hard on his earlobe as she reaches between them for the button on his jeans, and his hips jerk a little at the flash of pain.

“You wanna have fun?” He pulls his head away again to glare at her. “Go ahead then. I’m a little tied up right now.”

“Oh.” She laughs a little and reaches around him, fumbling a little at the ropes. “Sweetheart, you should have said you didn’t want to be tied up for this. I’d have cut you loose right away.” She fumbles at the rope and it falls away from his wrists – too quickly for her to be simply untying – and before she can take another breath, his forehead smashes against her nose as he lunges through the cramp in his shoulder. He’s grabbing at her ears to yank her away from him, but before he gets there, he feels his wrists jerked back so his palms are resting flat against the floor. Nothing is holding them there – Meg’s still got her fingertips curled into the waistband of his jeans – but he can’t move them, or his legs. Even his head is pressed beck against the post as if it’s been superglued there. And there’s nothing, nothing holding him. His body tries to shudder and can’t.

Meg pulls a hand out of his jeans and touches her fingers to her nose, smears the blood dripping from it a little, then licks her fingers. “Oh, Sam. I didn’t know you liked it rough.” She pulls his mouth open with those same gentle, bloody fingers, her other hand pulling open his jeans, and he’s wide open for her, can’t do a thing about it, can’t even bite down on her tongue as she leans in and slips it against his. Her fingers are still in his mouth, and she laps at them; her tongue flicks against his teeth, tastes like iron. “Whatever you want, baby, I’m happy to give it to you. Happy.”

She leans forward, pressed tight against him, his dick trapped between them hard and ready without his permission, and he breathes deep, trying to control this, trying to tamp down, and if anything, he’s only getting harder. The hand in his lap squeezes his dick tightly, and the sound that escapes him is not anything he’s ever heard coming out of his mouth before.

“Attaboy, Sammy.” She laughs a little. “You’re a big guy all over, aren’t you? I wondered about that, you know. Back in Indiana.” Her hand squeezes again, and Sam’s back tries, fails, to arch. “I was watching you sleeping at the bus station, wondering if it’d be worth the risk, deviating from the plan, waking you up so we could fuck in the bathroom. Came so close to doing it, too. Close as I am to you now. That's pretty close, right?” Her hand leaves his dick and Sam takes a deep breath, trying to get his head back in the game, listening a little for Dean, but she’s reaching for the button on her own jeans, unzipping with knuckles rubbing him featherlight and agile. (Multitasking, you might say.) He’s listening for Dean but can’t hear a fucking thing over the blood roaring in his ears, nothing, at least, aside from her filthy-low voice, still whispering to him.

She pulls her knees up against his ribs and wriggles against him as she pulls her jeans down, not bothering with her little lace panties, just pushing them to one side as she slips forward, pussy dripping wet against him. “Shit – thank goodness for stretch jeans, right, baby? This would be easier if my back were to you, but then I wouldn’t be able to see your sweet face, and that’s most of the fun right there.”

She raises up slowly, slicking his dick up and arching her back so that his cockhead is just inside her. “Anyway. You’d have done it, I bet. Fucked me at the bus station, I mean.” She slides down another inch, and Sam feels like his head is about explode. She gasps. “Had a hard-on for me even then. I know. And it would’ve been good, Sammy, so fucking great. You and me in that bathroom, you splitting me wide open, and I’m such a good girl, Sam, not too many guys before you, see, and no one as big as you, I’m so tight – feel how tight I am – and I’d have fucked you bareback too, would have held you down just like this, ohhh, and you’d have come so hard that I bet you’d even have come to California with me just to keep fucking having that, and we’d ride all the way to Sacramento smelling like sex, like this, your come dripping down my legs, more at every stop, we might never have made it to California at all, oh yeah –” she slides down the rest of the way, the lace edge of her panties scraping, her weight resting against him. She uses her thighs and her hands on his shoulders for leverage as she starts to move, finally, breaths coming sharp, and Sam is moaning openly as her pussy clamps around him, viselike, and he thinks there might be more talking but he isn’t really sure because all there is is just her, moving over his immobilized body like she needs his dick in her to keep her heart beating.

Sam hears a distant crash but can’t think what it might be and doesn’t really care by now, so close, so close, and just as he starts to come, never come this hard, never felt so horribly perfect, that’s when her body’s yanked off his, and he’s coming into the air, spilling messy everywhere, and as she’s dragged backward across the floor, jeans around her thighs, panties still on, he can move again, jerks to his feet and watches as her body breaks the window.

Thinks he sees her eyes flash inky black just before she falls.

He takes a deep breath, tucks himself in and fastens his jeans. He turns to face Dean, standing by the fallen altar.

Dean’s looking a little shell-shocked. “Hey, Sam – next time you wanna get laid, find a girl who’s not so buckets of crazy, huh? And while you’re at it, wait till I’m out of the goddamned room to get it on.”

Sam runs his hands through his hair, flushed so hot he can feel it on his scalp. Nods. It’s a fair request, for sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from X's "The World's a Mess It's in My Kiss."


End file.
